


Ensorcell

by littlebrownshoe (Wolfy_Tales)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AUish Quest for Erebor - Altered factors, Alternate Universe - Age Reversal/Switch, M/M, Slow Love, alternating pov, sorry Frerin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfy_Tales/pseuds/littlebrownshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin is a young dwarf on his first adventure, hellbent to prove himself. Ori is a wise scribe just trying to make it back to Erebor without losing his two younger brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ensorcell

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit.

 

 

_A Dwori one-shot where Dwalin is the young buck and Ori finds him adorable._

 

 

 

Dwalin had never truly wanted to have the life of a warrior. Yet as he continued to grow and grow in the width of shoulders, in the length of limbs, he was picked for a life of axes and grit.

Their father was ever-so-proud of course, that his younger son would be so full of energy. Balin had thought it interesting, his smile always warm on his face Dwalin had known all his life. Their age-gap wasn't as large as others, but Balin had gone white much earlier than most, so it made it seem as such.

Balin himself had chosen the life of a scribe, the total opposite to what Dwalin had been chosen for. Yet Dwalin didn't find himself jealous of his older brother; like any good dwarf, they both worked on their craft in dedication and no-small degree of charm.

.

Dwalin absolutely hated this Dori person.

While defeat from the hand of another was not an altogether foreign concept (Thorin did best him on his best days when Dwalin was off), it was not something Dwalin would become accustomed to. He hated the feeling of someone standing over him, bother literally or metaphorically in their higher abilities.

And Dori was starting to truly challenge him. Akin to Balin, the boy had turned white at an impossibly-young age, and so had beauty to match his mighty brawn. He was the pinocle of dwarven beauty with his light hair and multiple braids, hair long despite his years being short.

Dwalin, with his scraggly mohawk and nose that still hadn't fully come in, was somewhat of an ugly ducking to the matured white-swan.

It didn't help at all that Dori boasted about his strength, saying he was the strongest. Dwalin had challenged him once and lost; he was still regaining his footing for another go. Yet the young dwarf in training told himself his day of continuous victory would come.

.

Thorin was the youngest as well as Dwalin, but he had two older siblings instead of one. And the extra was a sister: a beautiful lass with bright gold hair and laughing blue eyes that never stopped to utterly enchant Dwalin.

Who knew it was pointless to fall of that particular cliff: she was already betrothed to a man with dark, unruly brown hair and a smile that was even more infectious than her own.

"Soon you're going to be an uncle," Dwalin said with a physical prod of an elbow to Thorin's side.

"Urgh," the dwarf-prince said with a biting laugh, "Don't _say_ that. I don't even have white in my hair yet."

"Yet," Dwalin repeated with a deep chuckle.

"Don't make me curse all your hair to drop."

"Oi. No need to be _cruel_."

.

Sometimes Ori became heartsick for his home and his Mother who had died shortly after Dori had been born. His parent passing and Smaug raining fire and destruction had happened in the span of a month, and then there had been the endless march, and Ori had no time to cry. Not with Dori crying all the time, and then Nori as a result. There had been Moria, and the desolation of settling in the Blue Mountains as a last result.

Ori, who his mother had always said had the softest heart in contrast with his stark writing style, became accustomed to pushing emotion back. Of having to take the responsibility for his siblings. To stop dreaming about what his life might be like, and worry about what the future of his siblings would become. It was hard, what with Nori's mischievous ways that had started to sour as of late.

At times Ori would look at others who had found another, and his heart would ache. He had the love of his brothers, of his close friend Balin, but sometimes he felt old. Old not in how many years he had, or the cramping of his fingers, or how fast his hair had turned white in concern and worry over his brothers- but how he felt lonely.

Ori was just so tired of having to take care of everyone. He just wanted someone to come and sweep him off his feet and care for _him_.

.

Dwalin had only truly known this life of exile. His first blurry memories were being carried on Fundin or Balin's back, eyes trying to take in the drastically changing landscapes. Then it was running around a half-built town close to men. Learning basic sword-play and wishing he could pick up those axes.

And he enjoyed where they lived. Yes, the men could be rude and he didn't like how they were taller than him. Dwalin may not have Dori's beauty, but the dwarf clearly trumped Dori and any other in one thing: his height. Yet the men were polite enough to leave the dwarves alone in their little town, and gave good gold for smithing done right.

So when talks began of an adventure, of Frerin leading a band of hopeful dwarves, Dwalin was unsure. They had made a good life for themselves here. They could remake themselves here, if they truly tried and let go of the corrupted past.

Thorin mumbled about it, unsure and unwilling, but Dwalin knew he would go where his older brother went. If he didn't, Frerin would probably agree to let Fíli and Kíli come then. While Dwalin and Thorin were still relatively young, they were not as blind by youth's invincibility as those brothers.

.

Of course Fíli and Kíli came along regardless. While only the blonde had memories of their Father, they both had the fire and nerve to leave and find glory for his memory. To take back his home that he had loved so fiercely.

Dwalin thought that they should be turned aside, but Frerin had welcomed them with open arms. Thorin had stewed in anger, sharing Dwalin's belief that they were too young. Thorin and Dwalin themselves hadn't had an adventure yet, and they already had fifty years on the saplings. Thorin and Dwalin could barely remember the flames of the fire, but Frerin's nerve had probably been as much an influence as their Father's dead desire.

At least Dwalin wasn't suddenly the youngest anymore. And this way their numbers totaled a solid fourteen instead of twelve. It left them with no real hurry to make Gandalf a permanent member if their number stood at fifteen with the burglar the wizard would provide.

Dwalin was excited at the prospect of finding glory, of allowing himself great deeds in battle so he could outline them in ink on his skin. Everyone else was closer to Balin's age, a few older and some younger. One of which was Dori.

Dwalin had been furious about finding that out; it still burned his heart every time he glimpsed the brat's shining hair and equally-white smirk.

.

Ori had never been properly introduced to Dwalin, but the scribe could easily pick out Balin's younger brother from a crowd. Primarily as a result of the lad's unusual height and even larger presence. For being so young he already had tattoos along a forearm, a scar in his eyebrow, and a serious stomp in his step.

Yet there was something so light, so innocent and effortless in how the young warrior laughed at the slightest things. He wasn't burdened down by the emotions of this quest like Ori, or the others besides the younger generation who had nothing to remember.

Ori watched as Frerin sat in front of the fire, his usual cheerful face drawn and concerned. No doubt about how they still didn't know if Bilbo would be joining them on their quest.

The scribe turned back to the others, to Dori and Nori sitting next to each other and sharing Ori's pipe (Nori must have snatched it, the rat), and then to Thorin and Dwalin. Their dark hair shone bright in the firelight, and it made Ori desperately miss his own reddish-color that had looked so fetching in the right light. Now he was stuck with silver, which was prized above all else in hair color, but he didn't like the attention it brought. And how it made him look so _old_.

.

The hobbit was a mix of things that Dwalin was still trying to come to an understanding about. First he had such short hair, and his feet were so stark in their nakedness. He noticed Thorin was similarly in shock at the feet, even blushing. Probably in anger from how strict Thorin was in appearance unlike his older brother.

Gandalf was as cheerful as ever about their new addition to the company. Dwalin had his doubts, and it didn't all lie in the stranger's soft stomach and short stature. This 'Bilbo' seemed like a rabbit, and would not do well in the wild with wargs and other evils in the shadows.

He worried his concerns to Thorin, who nodded in agreement. But Frerin would hear nothing of it, declaring that Bilbo would be a perfect addition, and even going so far as to embrace the hobbit. It made the shorter look up in bafflement, eyebrows shot as high to his hairline.

Dwalin saw another flush creep up Thorin's neck, but this one wasn't of embarrassment.

Dwalin sighed. _Great_. As if this journey had not been perilous enough.

.

"Hello. You're Dori's friend, right? I'm his brother, Ori."

Dwalin slowly looked up to see someone with braids and a small smile holding out his hand. After Dwalin looked at it, and purposefully grasped his ax tighter, the other dwarf coughed before retracting his hand.

"We aren't friends," Dwalin growled.

"Oh, that's a shame," he said with a light sigh. "Your brother and I get along so well, I thought it only fitting the younger ones might do the same."

Dwalin glanced up at that, and he actually looked at this person who'd introduced himself as 'Ori.' Like Balin, his hair had turned light. But he kept it it braids that only made it some inches past his shoulder; his beard mirrored the style.

His nose was a tad sharper than most, and his smile was easy, crow's feet fanning out effortless around his bright eyes that weren't dimmed a bit by age. He seemed thin and weedy in comparison to Dori, or Dwalin himself. Balin wasn't a warrior at heart like Dwalin, but he still fought, and this dwarf before him looked nearly as soft as their burglar.

"Just wanted to give a greeting. I'm off to bed now."

Dwalin watched him leave, Ori's limbs nimble, and wondered just how he was going to manage protecting half the company.

.

The next morning saw them heading out early, and it was only a little while before the burglar came barging out of the undergrowth saying he'd signed the contract.

Frerin's smile had been wide, but Thorin's seemed more honest in its shyness, and how fast he'd hidden it away. But not fast enough for his best friend to not note it. (And by the way Gandalf had slid the prince a short look, neither had it passed the wizard.)

It was good entertainment for a bit to watch the burglar squirm on his pony; both from the outlandish flirtations Frerin was giving him, and by simply riding in general.

When they broke for camp, Dwalin watched the hobbit look out of place, fingers twitching and no-doubt wondering what he could do to help.

Ori was the one who took pity on him, and asked him to help whittle some new quills. Fíli and Kíli had shot down an owl for the stew tonight, and Ori had jumped at the opportunity for the feathers.

.

It wasn't all that surprising that Ori would strike up a fast and easy friendship with the hobbit. While Ori was hardened through life's necessities, he still enjoyed the quieter bits of life. A good book before the fire, a quill that had a sharp edge, a library that was as endless as it was old.

The scribe mostly enjoyed swapping legends and myths about their cultures. Thorin had frowned when he'd heard Ori explaining how Durin had come about, but Frerin had simply elbowed his younger brother off his pony and declared that they could share whatever they wanted with the hobbit. He was part of the company now: it was their right to be loyal to each and everyone of them.

Ori was a little confused when Bilbo would start talking about gardening, when he pointed out stray plants on their journey and babbled about what each one did. Oin appreciated it, and Ori would let them be while they talked about different properties of herbs that could heal.

It was at those times when Ori looked for someone else to converse with. What was the point of wonderful words if they weren't used? Yet he felt like he'd talked most of the company's ears off. Balin was always welcome, but he was at the front in discussion with Frerin.

Which was how Ori found himself wondering if Dwalin would welcome a conversation between them. The lad seemed skittish around Ori, and he kept glancing back at Dori who was looking a bit thunderous at his rival talking to his brother.

Goodness, when had this quest become a play of dramatics?

.

"Why was _I_ not first-born?"

Dwalin frowned at the question before turning to Thorin, who was smoking his pipe with a bit more aggression than usual. He wasn't even bothering with rings or tricks; he was puffing at it akin to a chimney in winter.

"I would be a great leader. It's disgraceful to be in the shadow of that loon," Thorin said with a growl. "If he was the younger one I could forgive his behavior. But he must lead us, not jest us."

"That's a bit harsh, Thorin," Dwalin rumbled. "Your brother _is_ the King."

Thorin growled, the sound more gravely than normal from his excessive smoking.

.

For all Thorin's griping, Frerin was a good leader at heart. He was a master with his spear, and it was oddly endearing to see him and Bifur be so close over their choice of weapon. Whenever there was danger the future king didn't hesitate to put himself forward, and risk his life for those in his company.

Dwalin knew that Thorin was much closer to Dís than his brother, but it was another thing entirely to see that confrontation nearly daily. They were like rams in how they butted heads for a sense of honor and personal-gain.

It made Dwalin realize that maybe rivalries among their own weren't productive or something to foster. Which was how he found himself approaching Dori as he sat with his older brothers at the fire one night.

"Care for a spar?" Dwalin asked, voice deep and earnest.

Dori looked up in doubt, eyebrows joining in a furrow. It was broken like a passing storm when Ori pushed him off the log, the younger Ri stumbling to stand.

Ori gave a cheerful wave, and Nori gave a wide smirk that highlighted his harsh, handsome features. Dwalin jumped at that, eyes skirting to his complicated beard. As he walked away with Dori, he wondered what it was with the Ri brothers and suggestive hair.

.

Their journey wasn't all that bad until they got stuck in Rivendell with nothing but leaves and weak-wine to entertain their hunger and thirst. It had been rewarding to piss in the fountains at least.

Some in the company were enjoying it substantially more than others. Bilbo, Balin and Ori were always off with each other pouring over books and the words they found there. Dwalin would catch Thorin trying to listen in with as little subtlety as possible. It almost made Dwalin ruin the scene with a massive bellow of laughter.

Balin talked to him about it, and some days Ori would join them in their debates and discussions. While Dwalin was one of iron and strength, he still appreciated their crafts of inner-working smarts.

Which was how Dwalin found himself watching, in awe, as Ori drew a portrait of Bilbo.

"These hands may not be as skilled as yours, but I have a trick or two," Ori laughed, his silver braids swinging easily.

Dwalin pushed down the burning question of if the scribe would ever bother drawing the portrait of a young, scrappish dwarven warrior.

.

For being so young, Dwalin had a heart that was heavier than most. He had moments at the elves' home of simply sitting and staring out into nothing. Unlike himself and Bilbo, Ori knew that Dwalin wouldn't go exploring. Even if he was curious, his dwarvish pride would make it impossible.

Still, Ori liked to look around every now and then. The elves were courteous, and entirely fascinated with Ori when he greeted and then conversed with them in elvish. They said his grammar was stiff, and when Ori explained how he'd never talked to an elf in real life until here, these strangers that were supposed enemies jumped to help him.

It was quite a shock in comparison to how fervently dwarves hid their language from all except themselves.

So it was somewhat hard to leave behind the last homely house east of the sea. But Frerin was anything if snide to the elves, while Thorin looked on in slight confusion. First from what seemed to be unfounded hatred, and then how his open brother was so hostile to those who were feeding and giving them shelter.

Regardless, Ori watched as Frerin pulled Thorin aside, to remind him of what the elves had refused to do in the past. And Ori frowned as that hatred passed onto the next generation; he was sure Fíli and Kíli soon, too, would get the same lecture of spite.

Ori looked down at his hands, and wondered if at times the past was best left alone. If new bonds should be created instead of holding onto old ones in crumbling foundations and bitterness.

.

It had been disconcerting to see Frerin so standoffish around a people who had only wanted to help, so Dwalin was glad when they left Rivendell.

Yet that relief to continue on the road was quickly smothered. First by the sheets of icy rain, and then at the falling rocks. Of watching as his brothers in blood and bond were supposedly crushed against the mountainside.

It only continued to go downhill from there as well: _literally_. When the floor opened and everyone was yelping, and even that was diminished by the goblins' squawking.

Dwalin hadn't ever seen them in real life, and what an experience it was. They were everywhere, their hands pulling and eyes flinty, and Dwalin shuddered in disgust.

When the king declared how they would start with the youngest, his eyes focusing on Dwalin, the warrior felt a spike of annoyance. Fíli and Kíli were so obviously green, and not only in their nausea from being so close to this goblin filth.

Ori took a step forward, as if his smaller figure could actually hide and protect Dwalin, and something loosened in Dwalin's broad chest.

He didn't have much time to think it over as Frerin stepped forward, Gandalf announced his presence in a grand way, and they were running for their lives. Dwalin did have time to give Ori one of his axes, and to catalog the soft smile the dwarf gave in return before cracking the first of many goblin skulls.

.

It was as if he hadn't allowed himself to breathe before arriving at Beorn's. It had been such a mix of fight and flight Dwalin wondered if his body still had the ability to produce adrenaline after all that.

From Bilbo nearly sacrificing himself for Thorin, for Frerin slaying Azog, to the eagles taking them soaring over forest and mountains. Only for them to get chased, their leader and prince lagging from their injuries, to a shapeshifter's house.

Yet the honey was sweet and Bilbo collected herbs from the garden with Oin to help the two Durins who had been so similar in their stupid bravery. Not that they wouldn't recover with a weak of rest and good food.

Still, it made Dwalin fearful of what was to come with so much of the quest remaining. There was still a forest, a lake, and a dragon. The young warrior prided himself in never allowing his emotions to overshadow his mind, but it was getting hard as the quest continued.

He asked Balin if it got easier to see friends in danger, and his brother gave him a soft look before patting his back and running a kind hand along his hair. For once Dwalin let the action go.

.

After the second day, Dwalin was utterly bored at the little cottage. For being on the road, of seeing new things every day, he felt the itchiness under his skin to keep going.

"Ah, young fortitude."

Dwalin turned at the voice and nodded at Ori. The scribe took the opportunity to sit beside Dwalin on the porch, pulling out his own pipe that was longer and regal in comparison to Dwalin's stump of a thing.

"We can't go anywhere without Thorin and Frerin better," Dwalin answered gruffly.

"Why don't you and Dori hit each other over the heads to pass the time? He's been biting for a rematch since you bested him."

Dwalin puffed up in pride at that: he had forgotten his victory over Dori through using a bit of strategy instead of mindless strength. Balin had smiled so wide in pride.

"Says the one with only a sling-shot."

"I also have a knife, I'll have you know," Ori said with a sniff as he took his first drag.

.

When Ori was walking through one of Beorn's massive gardens, he spotted Dwalin alone, sitting on a bench. He was clearly in quiet contemplation at something, his thick eyebrows furrowed and his eyes on his metal-tipped boots and not the beautiful greenery around him. Several fat bees buzzed about him, but the warrior didn't even bother lifting a hand to bother them away.

It made Ori remember the young dwarf at Rivendell; how he would look lost in his head and forget about what surrounded him. Then the scribe thought how this was a rare, perfect occasion to finally pen Dwalin's face down in his sketchbook.

So Ori ever-so-quietly got out his book and pencil. He'd like to do it in pen, but he had no desk, and couldn't hold his sketchbook and bottle while drawing as he stood. If he sat, the angle would be lost.

Ori sketched quickly, glad he had already done some pages this morning. It made the sketch come faster, easier, from having previously warmed-up.

He had barely gotten it all down, and had been working on trying to capture the magnificence that was Dwalin's mohawk, when the warrior stood slowly, stretched his arms high above his head, and ambled away.

Ori sighed, and looked down at the sketch that he could work with to make a proper portrait with later.

.

It was some days later before the older royal brothers agreed they were ready to travel. Beorn loaded them down with supplies that might last them months, but the bear of a man was adamant in rationing it to continue through the forest without losing any of their company to starvation.

Thorin still clutched at his side as he rode his pony, his regal bearing slipping a little more each time he winced. Dwalin didn't say anything, but the hobbit was anything but vocal. He forced Thorin to chew on herbs that were bitter judging by Thorin's frowns.

Frerin's wound to his arm was a bit easier to deal with, and he enjoyed chatting with Ori at the front of the line while holding his reigns with only one working hand.

For the first time Dwalin could empathize with Thorin's distaste at Frerin talking to Bilbo. Because their king truly was a flirt, and while it explained Fíli and Kíli's demeanors, it didn't give reason for him to use it on the silver-haired scribe.

Dwalin found that envy was not an enemy easily overtaken.

.

It was maddening, throwing his body at bars of steel that would never break, but it was something to do from going completely insane in this situation. His best friend and king taken, not knowing where their burglar even was. Not knowing if he would spend the rest of his natural life here.

"Dwalin?"

The voice was soft, caring, and Dwalin halted his last bodily-throw. His thick fingers wrapped around the bars, and he tried to look around but found he couldn't see much. Still, that had been Ori's voice.

"Master Ori?" he asked back uncertainly, wondering if a spider had injected him with venom and hallucinations. At least he remembered to address him respectfully.

"Yes, it's me," he said in a sigh, sounding huffy and annoyed. "As much as I'd like to not be here."

They continued on in their soft conversation, asking about what they'd noted and seen, and Dwalin found himself impossibly feeling a little at ease while caged up.

"Feeling better now?" Ori asked, a smile in his tone.

Dwalin huffed, and allowed himself the luxury of smiling since the scribe couldn't see it.

.

It was nice having Ori so close-by to talk to. True, everyone else was in shouting distance. And it had been no problem at all for everyone to hear Kíli wax poetry and patheticness to the elf every time she walked on by. Everyone was dead silent in morbid-curiosity and shock to interrupt the ever-odd dance.

Dwalin made sure to carry his voice low when talking with Ori, somehow wanting something private in this disgrace they had found themselves in. And Ori was always one for talk, something Dwalin imagined was part of working with words all his life.

Dwalin asked him questions about Erebor, and Ori answered them as best as he could. Same with the battles that had been fought before this quest, and Dwalin was shocked to find Ori naming weapons far past his simple slingshot. It explained at least how he worked Dwalin's ax with such ease.

"But I'm not one for adventures and bloodshed," Ori said somberly one day. "I've always had an old soul, and now I find I have an old body."

"I'll protect you," Dwalin found himself voicing softly.

Ori was silent for a moment before reaching an arm out. Dwalin caught on quick and reached out himself, giving the hand offered a squeeze.

.

Dwalin was one of the first out of the barrels, and after he'd sputtered out at least a liter of river water, he slicked his hair back and went to help the others swim in.

First he helped Nori who looked angry and insulted at everything, whose glare was not much with his hair strung out and dripping wet. Then he went to help Bifur, and finally Ori.

He pulled Ori to his feet, and the scribe used his left hand to cradle his right wrist. Dwalin was pulled with such worry it surprised even him.

"Will you be able to write again? To sketch?"

Ori stared, blinked, and then laughed like they hadn't all almost drowned and he wasn't injured. His hair was dimmed with the water, and not the perfect-silver Dwalin was accustomed to, but Ori still looked as pretty as ever with his laughter lines and swinging braids.

When Bard showed himself with a bow, Dwalin automatically moved to protect little Ori.

Later, as they stood on the barge and rowed closer still, Ori explained that it was only a slight strain. It would be healed in a day or two.

Dwalin sighed in relief, and Ori smiled beautifully at him in return.

.

They were all huddled in the shack of this lake house, grouped together in twos or threes and talking in low voices if at all. Mostly they just shivered and cursed their luck and wondered what would happen next.

Ori was sitting with the elder human girl, who'd been pulled away from making toast to ask about what the dwarf was scribbling away so madly at. Dwalin listened in feigned indifference as Ori schooled the girl on questions about the quest.

The human looked especially young next to Ori, the dwarf insufferably patient even at her seemingly endless questions. Even with the younger one came ambling about and sat directly in Ori's lap, pulling rudely at his beard's braids.

Dwalin wondered if that was what he looked like next to Ori. Just a youth with too many questions and everything to prove.

.

Ori was knitting a jumper for little Tilda that afternoon when Dwalin came and sat down next to him. Ori was tired of being stuck in the house, and so had decided to sit on the roof for a bit. All the humans here were so busy in their lives, or downtrodden at their existence, that they barely ever bothered to look up. They would only see the dull-gray of fall weather anyway.

"What're you making?" the younger dwarf asked in interest, his bisected eyebrow lifting in further interest.

"Something for the youngest human," Ori said with a giggle. "I somewhat miss making jumpers this size after making so many for Nori and Dori. Oh, how they used to hate them."

Dwalin frowned, and Ori rushed to say: "I'm mostly joking. They liked them in the winter."

"You truly are crafty," Dwalin said, and Ori didn't think he'd ever get used to how soft that voice was from such a hard body, honed by diligence and training.

"Sometime when I have the time and barrels of yarn, I'll knit you one. It'd be a challenge, doing something that big."

Dwalin's smiles were shy and guarded in comparison to his usual robust nature. Ori found he liked seeing them, and being the cause of them, quite a lot.

.

Dwalin wasn't so prideful as to not seek Ori at the lakehouse while they regrouped and tried to think strategy. He had become accustomed to it in the prisons, and while they were now free, Dwalin still found himself gravitating to the older dwarf.

They had time: Frerin was once again weakened by his harsh imprisonment away from everyone else. It had affected him mentally as much as physically being in such dark, deep loneliness and damp. With no one, not even the elves, to talk and joke with.

For what felt like the first time, Thorin and Frerin were getting along without any worry or undercurrent of emotion. They talked and laughed, and enjoyed in making their burglar laugh. Dwalin watched as Thorin actually smiled with his brother instead of chastising him.

Dwalin wondered if growing up for Thorin meant loosening up. Then he wondered what would make Dwalin himself mature, make him race away the years so he was closer to those wise like Ori, or weather-worn and proud like Balin.

While Dwalin almost felt like drowning when he thought of the dragon up high, he focused instead on the wonder he would feel for seeing Erebor for the first time. Of allowing his comrades to come home.

To truly see the library Ori had often rattled on about with his eyes far away in memory.

.

Dwalin watched as Bilbo went to confront the dragon; he watched as he flew off to the lake to take revenge on innocent people; he watched with his clear, young eyes as it fell with a silent splash.

Smaug's fire had extinguished, but sickness and greed were still very present. Except now it wasn't manifested in a fire-breathing monster, but their king.

He watched with the rest of the company as Frerin became consumed with gold lust, eyes bright but glassy as he took in the gold. As he clutched diamonds so tight it cut at his skin, turning the gems into faux rubies.

One night he, Thorin, Bilbo and Fíli and Kíli slipped away from the others. They sat in silence, no words between them as they had no plan on what to do. Nothing so far was working – even the kind words and warm food of the hobbit. But what hurt even more was how Frerin was close to ordering Thorin's execution, concerned his right to rule might be questioned. That easy camaraderie just days ago has withered with winter's fast approaching chill.

Bilbo broke the silence with a quiet keen, and Dwalin swallowed down concern when Thorin put his arm around the halfling.

.

Dwalin felt like it had been better when Smaug had been alive.

They had lived in the shadow of mountains, instead of inside a sole one. Yes, they were not the richest people no more, driven low from necessity, but they had a good, hard-working life. They had food, and they had family, and there had been heart and love.

There's none of that now, as Thorin held Bilbo over the battlements with Frerin grinning maniacally behind. Their king screamed at Thorin to drop him, drop the traitor, show that they did not forgive-

Dwalin dared to not even blink. Thorin was unaffected by the gold-sickness through seeing his brother enraged by it, but this was different. Not sickness of the head, but of the heart: that Bilbo truly had betrayed his trust and his people by giving away their most treasured item to the enemy. Of not entrusting Thorin with the stone or the knowledge that the burglar had found it.

Through the hardships, Dwalin had focused on the glory of reclaiming their home. Of defeating the dragon and their ancestry. It had gotten him through this quest of desolation, had motivated him when he felt his arms and heart become heavy from exertion.

Dwalin felt, for the first time in his life, terrified.

.

Ori's eyes moved away from the horrific sight of Thorin threatening Bilbo with death to see Dwalin take a few shaky steps forward.

Something clenched further in Ori's chest at the sight: of seeing someone so young and sure of the ways of this world figure out the truth. What Nori was so adamant about explaining: most people may see color, but they never acknowledged all the metaphorical shades of gray. They only believed in the black and white.

And here was the dwarvish cliché of it all: the young warrior thinking that all could be solved, someway, somehow, if he just put himself in danger. If he risked what he had for the joy and happiness of others. If he put his body in the middle of violence for the hope of his comrades.

"Wait," Ori said in a soft whisper as he grabbed Dwalin by his wrist, holding him back only because Dwalin allowed himself to be.

Dwalin looked at him, face twisted in confusion and grief, and Ori tried to think of words. Of any words in the four languages he spoke, that would help in this situation.

.

There was no way to accustom one's self to fighting for their lives.

Ori had run when the dragon attacked, and he'd just barely managed to rush Dori and Nori out in time; the former in his arms while the other clung to his back. He'd had to fight tooth and nail at the attempt to reclaim another home. Ori wondered if they should have stood and tried their luck with the dragon too.

Other fights were harder, quieter: the fight against forgetting oneself in the wilds and with men. Of never letting go of the hope to have his true home reclaimed.

But now it was one of the hot-blooded times: when he had axes in either of his hands. He saw Dori somewhere nearby, slewing any near him, and felt a swell of pride for his brother. But Nori was no where in sight, and that frightened Ori even more than the orcs clamoring for his life.

At the sound of a yell that could only be- Ori turned in time to see Dwalin take out two orcs at once. For being so despondent to everything this morning, with Thorin's slip and Frerin's continuing madness, the warrior had roused himself to fight.

Ori knew he wasn't as strong as Dori, wasn't as dedicated as Dwalin. But he could fight too. So fight he did.

.

There was a battle, and as in all battles, there was death.

While Thorin, Fíli and Kíli were still fighting against that outcome to this two-year struggle. Dwalin himself, whole and cut but not truly hurt, looked down at the handsome, dead face of Frerin. He was surrounded by rich furs, his sword on his chest and the raven crown atop his head. His eyes no longer gleamed in the golden light, forever closed to this world.

"He let himself be consumed," Ori said next to him, lifting a hand to rest on Dwalin's forearm. "We tried all that we could, but there's nothing for these things. Nothing that makes it easier. At least he rallied us together, even if it meant his end."

Dwalin nodded, thinking of all the books Ori must have read in his years, of all the deaths he had to witness and live through when he'd last been here at Erebor.

"But sacrifices are not so easily forgotten," Ori continued to say, his grip tightening. "He will be remembered in greatness. There'll be songs that will gloss over his madness and focus on his daring nerve to create this quest."

.

And so it was with a heavy heart that Thorin got his wish to become king. It was fashioned by the company, and while it was silver and lighter than the last crown, Dwalin knew it was heavy on Thorin's head.

The company disbanded and tried in their own ways to create their past lives in the present. At least those who had been here before: he, Thorin, Fíli and Kíli were still trying to play catch-up to everything around them. It's hardest for Thorin: to rule in a place he'd only just arrived to.

Balin became the head-advisor for Thorin, and Dwalin knew his level-head would help in the many negotiations that would take place in the near future. Dwalin himself found himself at the head of the royal guard in shock.

The grizzly warriors from the Iron Hills looked at him in disbelief, for one so young to command so many. But Dwalin culled those thoughts aside by challenging all and defeating them one-by-one. He asked Dori to be his second, but shockingly enough the dwarf wanted to start up a tea and tailoring business. Dwalin didn't even try to think how the strongest dwarf was going to find contentment in that venture, but it was always their differences that had made them butt heads.

Unlike with the oldest Ri, who has reclaimed his position as head scribe. Dwalin saw the heavy bags under Ori's bright eyes, and tried to discourage the dwarf from running himself ragged, but Dwalin mostly let him be. At least there was happiness in his exhaustive work.

.

The warrior visited everyone in the group every now and then.

Thorin was fully healed, at least in body, and was growing slowly into his role as king. It was something he never thought he'd accomplish with his strong older brother, but Dwalin thought Thorin would be a true, just king unlike Frerin who would slack on his responsibilities and rule abstractly.

Fíli and Kíli are now back to fighting strength, and it allowed everyone in the company to breathe easier. It wouldn't do well at all for their youngest to perish before they had a chance to live past a desperate adventure.

With caravans arriving from the Blue Mountains, and the stink of the dragon finally gone with the start of spring, there was a new hope in the air. It healed and helped Dwalin awake in the morning easier.

It had been sad to watch Bilbo go. But Gandalf mentioned how they simply needed to take care of some small problem and would be back soon enough for a visit. Bilbo didn't seem happy about getting off again so soon, and Thorin had held him close in their parting embrace for more than a moment too long.

.

It had been more than disheartening to see Bilbo go when Spring came about. Things besides clinging moss were finally beginning to grow, now that Smaug was rotting and gone. There were saplings where massive pines used to stand, grass where there had only been ash for over sixty years.

With the melting of the snow came more dwarves, from the Blue Mountains, from the Iron Hills and from other corners of Middle Earth who had heard the call of their reclaimed home.

Ori was uncertain about all this favor he was getting for being one of the fifteen. He didn't think he deserved it as much as others: for Thorin stepping up, for Fíli and Kíli always believing, for Dwalin's unflinching loyalty. All Ori had done was document it with words and haphazard sketches.

He gave the portrait of Bilbo made all those months ago, and the hobbit visibly brightened at the gift. But that reaction was nothing in comparison to when he'd teared up, and grabbed Thorin closer to him in their parting embrace.

Ori looked up to see most of the company were averting their eyes, blushing at the intimacy between their new king and burglar. But Dwalin was watching with steady eyes, no innocent flailing at seeing something so close.

Dwalin's eyes moved away from the pair to Ori's; he must have felt the scribe's eyes. Ori was the one who looked away in a hurry, guilt thick in his throat.

.

Even if they're two of the highest officials, even if they're still whispered about and thought as heroes akin to legends of old, Dwalin and Thorin still found time to get drunk off their stools in dark pubs. Tonight's one was tucked into the merchant section, the carts closed down for the night, but the shops still open.

There were enough dwarves here that their presence wasn't studied or questioned. After all, Bifur and Bofur are here singing without a care in the world despite their new high-status, and it was a good distraction for Dwalin and his brother-in-arms to feel normal like before.

"We're so pathetic, aren't we," Thorin sighed into his ale, words directed at Dwalin. "You can't do anything even if the one you care for is here, while mine is halfway across Middle Earth searching for some volcano or another."

Dwalin opened his mouth to argue, to say that Gandalf hadn't said anything about that, to say that he was trying with Ori- and then he realized the truth that rung from Thorin's words.

Dwalin exhaled sharply, and Thorin caught onto his epiphany quick enough for being so fog-minded. When Thorin slapped his back, they both roared with heart-sick laughter at the their situations.

Maybe they really hadn't grown up in the years it took to gain this kingdom back.

.

Dwalin wondered if the top of Erebor would blow in the festivities that were to come for the first-anniversary of Durin's Day since reclaiming the mountain.

Last year on this day they had been shivering, all hope lost, until the soft voice of their burglar had brought them back. Frerin had been intent on the key, not seeing how Thorin reached forward and put a thankful hand on Bilbo's arm.

But this year there would a feast, a waterfall of mead, and music for days on end. There had been a quiet, thankful feast for reclaiming the mountain last year, but it was muted by the death of Frerin: The King that Never Was. Of Thorin and his sister-sons that were brought deep into the mountain in hopes of helping them heal.

Dwalin felt all celebrations were easy gatherings compared to this; even the woodland elves that had decided to visit were swaying dangerously from their intake of drink.

It was a time for happiness, for light in the dark-

The young warrior found himself turning at the flash of silver, as Nori twirled his older brother about with ease and a wide smirk. There were many staring: seeing the beauty of two Ri brothers together was nothing to gloss over.

The song ended, and Dwalin watched as Ori breathlessly smiled and thanked his brother with an affectionate tap of their foreheads.

And suddenly Dwalin wanted that.

So he downed the rest of his tankard, straightened his shoulders, and took the necessary steps to the elder Ri. Ori looked up at him, cheeks still flushed and smile widening in welcome.

Dwalin offered his hand, and while Nori snorted, Ori took a step forward and put his hand in Dwalin's. Then they were spinning and twirling, Dwalin easily lifting Ori's entire body while the scribe laughed himself breathless again.

Dwalin dipped Ori, and the song ended, and the warrior thought his heart would burst.

But then the dwarf caught the flicker of understanding in Ori's eyes, felt the smaller body in his arms stiffen- because Dwalin was still staring and holding the scribe so intensely.

And suddenly Dwalin knew his cover was blown, was dead as the dragon in the lake.

A brave warrior most knew him as, but at that moment he was but a fool in love. So he put Ori back on his feet, bowed in thanks, and bolted to get himself drunk beyond belief.

.

It was hard- impossible to believe Dwalin felt something past friendship for Ori.

Not only because Ori was decades older, but because Dwalin was a dwarf of youth and action. Ori was one for sitting before a fire, or drinking tea and talking about myths instead of being a part of them. He shelved books at the library, took accounts from other dwarves to document- he hadn't originally wanted to come on the quest for Erebor. He had only come to make sure Dori and Nori didn't get lost or fall in some hole.

Ori couldn't refuse his blood had sung in their victory over Smaug, of their victory in the Battle of Five Armies. It had been hard writing about it from a neutral standpoint when all he wanted to do was write about the greatness of dwarven strength.

And that's what Dwalin was a prime example of: height, muscle and tattoos that he gathered faster than Ori with books. The dwarf was still young and out to prove himself, favored by being the King's cousin as well as for his abilities alone.

Yes, Ori supposed he was proud of his beard he kept neat in three braids (more than his hair that refused to grow, that was for sure). He knew people watched, looked to see when he would finally meet or realize who his One was.

But Ori was as nervous about romance as adventure: he was tired and simply wanted someone to love without abandon and hold at night.

Dwalin was too eager for more adventures, not to settle with someone like Ori. That's what he would continue to tell himself.

.

Dwalin avoided Ori for months, only nodding to him on the rare occasion of their paths crossing.

The silver haired scribe seemed uneasy around him; Dwalin could tell by the way his eyes danced over his entire figure. How they stayed at his hands, at his eyes that never strayed from Ori's face. Ori was still trying to figure Dwalin out, while the warrior knew enough.

There really wasn't all that much to figure out: Dwalin had set his hopes too high. The older dwarf would never see him as anything but a green warrior with too little in years and scares to garner attention.

Dwalin took out his frustration on new recruits, on Fíli and Kíli who went home with bruises. Thorin frowned and questioned, but Dwalin just scoffed him away.

He tried to spend his time with friends instead of the one he wanted to. But even that got tiresome with Bofur and Nori. Their flirting was scandalous at best, and it made Dwalin grimace and think that he would never flaunt his feeling so freely.

And maybe that was the problem: he hadn't made himself explicitly clear in what he wanted. Which was anything and everything that Ori was willing to offer.

His courage would grow, he'd think maybe to find the scribe in the library- and then Dwalin would remember how Ori regarded him like a fawn.

If anything, Ori needed time to adjust to Dwalin's feelings. Maybe at least then he could let Dwalin down easy, and their friendship could resume.

Dwalin may be young, but he'd learned to be patient.

.

Growing up outside a mountain made Dwalin's skin itch for the outside world, and Thorin was similar. So they would invite others along for hunting parties. Fíli and Kíli would always join without fail, and on this expedition Nori and Dori had come along as well.

Dwalin enjoyed the time and ability to show his tracking skills, his ability to be silent even in his massive frame to find and kill bucks and wild wargs alike.

The young dwarf hadn't thought anything of Nori and Dori coming along together when they usually would never come together, until he woke from a doze at the fire to their hushed voices.

"I just don't see it," Nori said, a frown in his words. "He's not so great. Why is Ori being impossible with his moping around just for _that_?"

"Stop being so judgmental," Dori scoffed. "Ori likes him, so we should be nice to him too. Which I can't believe I'm saying, seeing as he and I used to be rivals. He nearly _cracked my skull open_ , I'll have you know."

"Yes, I remember all the blood. Feel free to keep beating him over the head with your fists in recompense," Nori growled. "Just don't do any permanent damage. Ori would never forgive you."

"It'd probably be an improvement to his stoney face," Dori joked.

The two tried to muffle their laughter (with elbows to their sides by the sounds of it) and failed, but Dwalin didn't make any sign that he was awake. Despite feeling like his heart sounded like a drum from this heart attack of hope.

.

Ori had expected a normal day at library like many ones past. Of going over more pages to copy to sturdier books that wouldn't crumble at the touch. Smaug hadn't ruined the library, but things had been neglected and so damaged all the same.

Ori had decidingly not expected to find Dwalin there, especially since Nori and Dori both said their hunting expedition would go on for a fortnight. It had barely been a week.

The warrior looked up at the footsteps Ori didn't try to hide; the scribe rose an eyebrow when Dwalin jumped up, fingers twitching over something wrapped in rough brown paper. Ori wondered if it was his obvious fussing that had made the paper so crinkled.

"Master Ori," Dwalin greeted as polite as ever, voice pitched low.

It had been much too long since they'd last spoke; Ori smiled wide before nodding for Dwalin to continue. The scribe worried if he opened his mind, he would derail Dwalin from saying what was making his face so serious.

"As tradition dictates," Dwalin said, taking a deep breath to pause before continuing: "I am to make something with my own hands to state my intent."

.

Dwalin had dreamed of being attached to Ori for what felt like too long. Now that it was a reality, he felt like a dwarfling taking their first steps. It felt like he had to relearn everything.

Not because Ori was making it difficult, no, not at all. It was because everything felt different with the knowledge of such a massive victory.

Dwalin had never thought of courtship practices, but that had been before he'd seen Ori. So now he read books from cover to cover about the subject; Balin found endless amusement in Dwalin suddenly being so scholarly. Ori positively glowed whenever he saw Dwalin making such an effort for him.

Not that there was much to know. It all came down to each pair was unique in their circumstances, and so should follow a unique path. But there were some set rules of gaining permission from the family's head, of offering gifts made from one's own hand, putting braids of intent in each other's hair for all to see and understand.

The warrior found himself enjoying the last aspect the most. Ori would use his thin, deft fingers to braid his mohawk so that it wouldn't rise up, but stay subdued to his skull in one massive braid.

Thorin said it was quite becoming without laughing, but Dwalin had enjoyed Dori's reaction the most. The dwarf had blinked, narrowed his eyes, and then paled and gagged before walking away on uneasy legs. Nori had been more subdued but still as rewarding: he'd wrinkled his nose before continuing on without a word on the subject.

What a welcoming family Dwalin was to join.

But it was all worth it, when Dwalin knew he could go to the library after training or guard duty. To find Ori hiding away in his desk piled high with papers. To bring Ori close in an embrace that had the scribe giggling and blushing.

Dwalin wondered just how long he had to wait before giving over his engagement present. He'd had it made for months now, but was waiting for the opportune moment.

.

Ori hated that Dwalin had to go, but it was a necessity. The young dwarf was Thorin's strongest warrior, and they would need the steadfast protection on the long journey. Dwalin, just like Ori, had responsibilities to the kingdom he couldn't ignore.

There were still those in the Blue Mountains who needed assistance and protection to pass the distance and mountains. All the warriors were gone in their haste to leave, and Thorin was strict that all those who wanted to come home could. He would send warriors out to them.

But understanding and accepting were two entirely different things, and Ori refused to be anything but a grouch on the subject. Especially now that he and Dwalin were affianced, and had been planning to have their wedding in a month's time. Now it would have to wait at least half a year, maybe more. Ori didn't fear for Dwalin changing his mind, but it wasn't like Ori was getting any younger.

Which of course Dwalin just rumbled out a laugh at. The young dwarf was always laughing every time Ori got a furrow in his brow on his upcoming journey.

"You look more adorable instead of fierce," Dwalin always said before ducking down for a knock of their foreheads.

He was affectionate, uncaring about everyone whose eyes strayed on their unlikely relationship. Dwalin was always so self sacrificing for everyone around him, and Ori felt selfish to want him all for himself.

"Just promise me you'll do everything to get back to me," Ori confessed one day.

Dwalin hadn't laughed then, but his small smile had been warm. It made Ori feel at peace.

.

It was unsettling to be back in the Blue Mountains after so much time. Time on the road, and then in Erebor- the deep purple mountains and flat pasture land held nothing of the grandeur Dwalin remembered. There was a tug of nostalgia even while he stood in his childhood home. Of simpler days, of sword practice with Thorin using wooden blades. Of bathing in the rivers that always made Dwalin's teeth clatter from the cold even in summer.

No, this was no longer Dwalin's home. Home was no longer a place for the dwarf, but a person. Dwalin felt his chest puff in pride: that was definitely a mature thought.

Something that was definitely immature was how Thorin grabbed their burglar so close when the green door opened and the little hobbit stared in shock. They stayed the night there, and Dwalin didn't poke fun at the tiny braid in the hobbit's hair the next morning. When Bilbo packed up and left with them with nearly as little preparation as last time.

On the road to home, Dwalin watched as Thorin accepted flowers to be tucked behind his ears. He watched as Bilbo taught the dwarf dances by the fireside.

He watched as his king smiled like a fool for the first time in his life; laughter easy now that he was with his One and not under a mountain full of duty and honor.

Dwalin turned up to the stars and moon, and thought that maybe Ori was looking at them, too. They were still leagues away form each other, but soon they would be reunited agin.

.

Ori's ears perked at the sound of Balin's voice asking for him. After hearing his closest friend explanation, Ori left his office in a rush to welcome everyone from the Blue Mountains back. Balin gave him knowing looks, and said that a wedding on Durin's Day would be fitting.

Ori had blushed, but nodded his head. Everyone would enjoy that: the unlikely romance that dwarves speculated and watched closely.

While the two friends weren't dwarflings anymore, they walked at a crisp pace to the massive front doors. Ori found himself almost stumbling in his haste, his smile unchecked in anticipation.

And there was the convoy off in the distance. Dwalin's bulk on his pony was unmistakable even at this distance.

"Should I schedule a meeting with your brothers, to discuss the wedding date then?" Balin asked with a smile in his eyes.

"Yes, I think that would be best," Ori said, brain barely remembering to function in such emotion.

It seemed Dwalin had caught sight of them, as he spurred his pony to break ahead of the others in a headlong sprint to the massive front doors. Balin politely stepped back as the pony reared to a stop, allowing his younger brother the room to sweep Ori off his face and spin him in circles.

The scribe giggled like he didn't have white hair and laughter lines, and Dwalin held him tight like the dreaming lover he was.

 

 

FIN

 

 


End file.
